


Whining

by quixoticStrigiformes



Category: Homestuck, MS Paint Adventures
Genre: Flushed Romance | Matesprits, M/M, Masturbation, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance, Red Romance, Smut, Wriggling Day, Xeno, a little bit of biting, and a little bit of scratching, with a little bit of crying to top it all off
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-20
Updated: 2013-08-20
Packaged: 2017-12-24 04:03:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/935088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quixoticStrigiformes/pseuds/quixoticStrigiformes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It hits you like a ton of bricks made of lead encased in you-should-have-realized-this-sooner slaps in the face.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whining

**Author's Note:**

> I've been meaning to write something like this for a long time (and then I finally did). A big thanks to mcglinnen (on tumblr) and my cousin Jane for beta reading!  
> I might add another couple of chapters. I dunno. We'll see how this goes.  
> oh also yes I did draw the thing

You told them you didn’t want a party.

 

It’s your wriggling day and you are pissed as hell.

 

Not only did everyone not listen to you repeatedly decline having a party, they threw a surprise one. You’re sizzling like a well-cooked hoofbeast on a grill and you gripe to everyone who will listen.

 

Gamzee, absent-minded as he is, must have been the brains behind this operation. He’s the one who got you out of your hive in the first place. Usually you wouldn’t let him pull you along on an outing, but he bribed you with candy and it’ll be a frosty day in hell when you say no to sweets. When you return, no more and no less than ten trolls and four humans greet you with a, “Happy wriggling day!” expressed in a sickeningly cheery manner. They even put a fucking banner across the mantle – also horribly bright – that reads the same. You try to kick them out but they push you into your hive and begin festivities.

 

You really fucking hate to admit that you almost enjoyed yourself.

 

All of your acquaintances have made it for this party, even Kanaya, who probably had to travel for a week and a half to get here. They come one by one to wish you another good sweep and you wish for them to kindly fuck off, but you thank them anyway. Gamzee is practically super glued to your side, despite you telling him repeatedly to go talk to somebody else, you’re busy. He doesn’t budge. Kanaya hovers around you too, but you expected that. You haven’t seen each other in person for a while and she seems to want to scope out your state of being; you don’t mind because you need to do the same for her, as her moirail.

 

Cake comes quickly, thank God. Jade pipes up to tell you she baked it this morning just for you. John insists you put fire sticks on it – “It’s a birthday thing! You have to do it!” – and make a wriggling day wish by extinguishing them. You’re not going to say what the wish is, because it’ll void the wish and you’re superstitious enough to believe John’s warning. Cheers erupt when you blow the tiny fires out, and the humans sing some strange song about happy birthdays. The cake is cut, passed around, eaten. It’s pretty good, but doesn’t compare to Gamzee’s baking. Jade probably already knows that, so you don’t say anything.

 

After cake there are presents. Not everyone brought a gift for you but that’s okay. Kanaya says they are “gifting you with their presence”, which doesn’t make much sense because they didn’t _bring_ any presents but you accept her explanation nonetheless. And then, after presents, people split off into small groups in the living room to chat. Feferi and Eridan claim the loveseat; Nepeta and Equius talk by the bookcase; Aradia, Tavros, and Jade grab the bigger couch; Dave, John, Rose, and Kanaya stand around the T.V.; Vriska and Terezi bicker while sitting at the coffee table. Sollux chats you up first.

 

You don’t notice anything truly wrong with Gamzee until he snaps his jaws at Sollux for giving you a celebratory pat on the back (an excellent, well-thought-out gift on his part). Gamzee doesn’t usually act so visibly pissed off – it’s your schtick, not his – and it’s freaking you out. After shooting the crap with every miserable being in your hive, you slip from the party, dragging Gamzee with you. His wrist is warmer than usual and for a second you wonder if he’s got a fever. His chest rumbles when you push him into the nearest closet, in the hall between the stairs and the living room. It’s a rare thing for your matesprit to be this grumpy and you’ll be damned if you ignore it.

 

“What is wrong with you?” you hiss. He ducks his head to the side like a whipped barkbeast, blatantly avoiding your question and your stare. “You’ve been a complete asshole tonight, and not just in your generic, chucklefuck sort of way.”

 

Gamzee lolls his head around to face you, almost like he’s rolling his eyes at you but you know he isn’t. He’s trying to convey something to you. Is he afraid to open his damn mouth? The muscles of his jaw tighten as he looks at you in some type of defiance.

 

His eyes are not lazy. They are fiery, boring into your own, and then he whines. It isn’t an annoying whine; it’s more needy, low.

 

Finally it hits you.

 

It hits you like a ton of bricks made of lead encased in you-should-have-realized-this-sooner slaps in the face.

 

The raised body temperature, the mood swings, the constant possessiveness: they all make sense. You can’t believe you hadn’t remembered; you were schoolfed this shit sweeps ago!

 

Gamzee is in heat. He is in heat and there is something you can do about it. The question remains: what will you do?

 

Apparently you will mutter, “Oh, God,” and rub the bridge of your snout exasperatedly. Gamzee groans and leans his head back against the wall and you are the shittiest matesprit to have ever existed for not realizing his predicament. You reach up to cup his cheek. What is it about him that makes you so sappy? You have to apologize. “Gamzee, I’m so –“

 

 

The kiss is all teeth at first. He is growling and nipping at your lower lip before he falls prey to need. You’ve never seen him like this before. His fists grip at your hair but don’t pull you down. It’s more like he’s trying to mash your face as close as physically possible to his own. You’d be worried about him consuming you whole if you didn’t know better. His torso is bent around yours in an effort to get the maximum contact between your bodies. He shivers; the heat from your body must feel cool for the burning under his skin.

 

Your horns bump together from the movement of your desperate lip locking. You raise a hand and stroke one of his horns, earning you a quiet moan into your mouth.

 

The second Gamzee palms your bulge, you freeze. There is no fucking way you’re getting it on in your closet during your surprise wriggling day party with ten other numbnuts on the other side of the wall. But still, his bulge is already completely unsheathed and there is plenty of damning evidence to go around. You can’t leave him here like this.

 

Your thinkpan is spinning too fast for your thoughts to be collected, partially from the kissing but mostly from Gamzee’s hand on your crotch. You move his hand up to your neck. He moves it up farther, up into your hair. His face is down on your head. It is inevitable, you decide; you flick your eyes towards the gaps in the closet door before speaking.

 

“You have to be quiet, Gamzee, or so help me, I’ll –“ you leave your threat unfinished as he whines into your hair. It breaks your bloodpusher and then some. He’s still got your hair twined around his claws; yours are hooked on the front of his baggy shirt. You untangle him from your head and peek outside the closet to make sure no one is around. Everyone seems to be where you left them, talking about trivial shit you need not bother with. You hope they won’t notice your absence.

 

You close the door and he is on you, wordlessly begging to be relieved. You push him against the wall, careful not to make any noises. He whines again, and you press up to him hard enough that he wraps his legs around your waist without slipping down. Gamzee hooks his feet around each other and pulls them so that your hips squeeze together. You can practically feel the purple stain forming on your pants, he’s so wet. This is so fucking indecent. You’ll have to sprint upstairs to avoid being seen in such a disheveled state.

 

You hate to rush things, especially things pertaining to pailing, but desperate times call for desperate measures. You make to pull his shirt off but his hands are on your horns, twisting up and rubbing sweetly. Stifling a groan, you opt to lift his arms up manually instead. He gives you a puzzled look but allows you to remove his shirt, which is ever so gracefully thrown in the corner. He returns his attention to your horns. He’s never been so focused on anything before; you wonder if being in heat affects Gamzee enough to make him so minutely aware of everything. Then again, you’ve never paid so much attention to details such as these before. You slip your own shirt off – Gamzee reluctantly removes his claws from your horns – and your bare chests touch together. He is hot, the hottest you’ve ever felt him be, and fuck it is getting pretty warm in this closet. You should crack a window when you’re done. And take a shower. And get everybody the hell out of your hive because one time won’t be enough for a troll in heat and you’re not going to screw this up.

 

Gamzee has to lower his feet to the ground in order to remove his pants, and despite your hesitation – you’ve never gotten this far with him – you also remove his boxers, which are horribly soggy with deep purple. You put them in another corner separate from the other clothes. He flinches from the chill the air gives him on his lower body. You quickly jump-hop out of your own pants and underwear and quietly move your spare bucket underneath him. You stand in front of Gamzee. His bulge is slightly bigger than yours and it is writhing something fierce. Yours is just getting started so its movements are short, but you are ready to press against him again. He whines quietly, and the sound propels you to him.

 

Oh, it is sweet.

 

Your bulges twist together, slick and needy, and it is maddeningly sugary. He exhales shaky breaths at the contact, gripping your shoulders so hard you swear you’ve lost all feeling in both your arms. This is not how you had hoped your first pail with Gamzee would happen, but at the same time it is exactly what you imagined. He sighs against you, sagging somewhat. His legs are back around your waist and his hands are tugging your horns and your lips meet in the middle and you grip his thighs so he doesn’t slip and it’s everything.

 

You move your mouth to his jaw and suck, leaving marks you know you shouldn’t but do because you pity this troll more than you ever thought you could and it’s a delicious feeling. When you feel ready, and you make sure Gamzee is ready, you push into his nook. He moans breathlessly yet loud, warnings lost on his now hazy mind. You grit your teeth, freeze, wait for someone to rudely interrupt. No one does. You move against each other; he keeps his claws against your back, scratching down with every thrust. He’s mostly smooth inside, the occasional ridge rubbing against your bulge. You keep your mouth on his shoulders and collarbones, your hands holding him up by his glutes. Years of non-experience tell you that both of you are getting close. Gamzee’s nook is tightening erratically but not in the end-all, be-all way you would expect an orgasm to be. His bulge is writhing between your stomachs; you’ve been neglecting it. You grasp it and work it over the way he seems to like, if his gasps tell you anything. The sounds he makes are savory. And just like that, he is there, spilling over your hand and dripping down your thigh and clenching around your bulge. He moans and it slides into a whine. You’re glad you remembered the bucket or else you would have a huge fucking mess to clean up. His genetic material splatters into the pail a bit too noisily for comfort but you are too far into it to worry. You come quickly, shuddering and biting into Gamzee’s shoulder. Your own slurry falls on top of his and mixes ever so slightly.

 

Both of you are breathing heavily. Surely someone would have heard your climax – neither of you were very good at staying quiet – and if they did, they’re staying away. You thank your fortunate glow rocks, move the pail out of the way, and slowly lower yourself and your matesprit to the floor. He buries his head in the crook of your neck and sighs. His breath ghosts over your clavicle. You sit there for what feels like minutes, though it’s just a few glorious seconds of simply breathing each other in. Gamzee chuckles.

 

“What?” you ask, too tired to tack on any more words.

 

He smiles into your skin and says, “Didn’t know biting’s your style is all.”

 

You laugh with him. Biting wasn’t your style until a few minutes ago, apparently. Maybe you’ll find more things that you didn’t know you like as the night wears on.

 

You stir yourself from the tender moment and back into your senses. Gamzee may be sated for now, but his heat will be back before you know it and you have to act fast. “Gamzee, wait here,” you tell him and stand to gather your clothes. Genetic material is wiped off with his boxers, seeing as they are already dirty and you need to put on your clean clothes. You’re planning on not getting caught, period, but you don’t want to risk it bare skinned.

 

Clothes on, you make a beeline from the closet to your respiteblock. Your fresh pair of pants is not halfway up your stems when there is a knock on your door. After not tripping over yourself, you answer it with a well deserved, “Who the ever-loving fuck could it be?” and yank open the door to find Kanaya. She’s got disapproval written all over her face. You’re going to die of embarrassment; your face is probably bright red already. Kanaya steps through the doorway despite you blocking it with your body and shuts the door. Your walls come down.

 

“Whatever you’re going to say, I don’t want to hear it,” you mutter, turning to find a clean shirt to wear. She chuckles; it sounds like bells.

 

“Well, I’ll say it anyway: what were you two doing?” Kanaya lifts an eyebrow and stares you down. It’s no use avoiding her question.

 

You sigh. “As if you don’t know.”

 

“I’ll admit, it’s hard not to when you two are as vocal as you were,” she replies. “I would like to know why.”

 

“It’s complicated.”

 

“Try me.”

 

“Fine!” you throw up your hands in defeat. “Gamzee and I were pailing because he’s in heat and without it he’d probably gut the next person to lay a single digit on me. Possessiveness seems to be one of the many symptoms.” That’s a weight off your chest. You’re glad Kanaya is impartial when you dump feelings on her like this; it’s probably why you’re moirails.

 

Kanaya visibly pauses. Bet you threw her a real curveball there. She wrings her hands thoroughly before she decides to answer. “I hadn’t realized.” She stops again. Thinks. “It would be best if we called the celebration off, I suppose.”

 

“Thought of that,” you say as you pull on the new shirt. “Once I’m done up here, I’m going to kick those shitlords out for the sweep.”

 

“Am I one of those ‘shitlords’?” she grins.

 

“Obviously not. But you’re kicked out too.”

 

She considers this. “I could stay with Rose,” she says, and you remember.

 

“Shit,” you say. And then again: “Shit. I’m sorry, Kanaya, I forgot.” She was going to stay with you for a while before her trek home and you just set her out on the streets. Her hand waves at you daintily.

 

“It’s no matter.” She chuckles, adding, “I’d rather not intrude on you two further.” You could swear she is grimacing under her polite smile. You can’t blame her. “Hurry up and rejoin the festivities, Karkat. You mustn’t keep your guests waiting.” She turns on her heel and exits your respiteblock.

                 

 

\-----------------

 

 

Gamzee is wandering the halls of the hive when you finally go back downstairs. He is stark naked and you are red and what the hell does he think he’s doing? His whole front and part of his back are smeared with purple and red evidence. He’s going to stain your goddamn carpet. You are at his side immediately, yanking his wrist so he’s down on your level when you hiss, “What the hell do you think you’re doing? There are fourteen other beings in this dump! Somebody’s going to see you!” You pull him towards the stairs. He grudgingly lets you.

 

“Can’t motherfucking breathe in there,” Gamzee mutters, a growl forming in his chest. Your bloodpusher sinks a little.

 

“Hey,” you say softly, stopping to take his other wrist. “It’s okay. We just need to get you upstairs.”

 

He swoops down and snags your lip with his teeth as he kisses you. He takes your arms and loops them around his neck and suddenly you don’t care where you are. You want him. Somebody clears their throat behind you. You don’t hear it at first; blood is pounding in your ears and you’re very much distracted. Gamzee, however, jerks his head up to see who made the offending noise and looses a low growl.

 

Terezi’s arms are crossed and hey, there’s that familiar look of disapproval again. You suspect black feelings are involved, but you don’t really want to think about it. She smirks at both of you.

 

Gamzee smirks back at her and you plead with him internally to not say anything stupid; he doesn’t. You stand in front of him to spare Terezi’s nostrils, which only serves to make her smile widen. “What have you two been up to?” she says, leaning forward on her cane. There’s a hint of laughter in her voice when she says, “You’ve been away from the party for a while now!”

 

“I was just taking him upstairs,” you grumble, and maneuver both of your bodies around her. You usher him up the steps as he snickers, honks sprinkled throughout his laugh, and it sends a chill down your spine. You can’t wait to deal with this every perigee. Before he’s completely out of Terezi’s line of sight, he stoops down and snaps his jaws at her, earning him an ashen cackle.

 

The door just barely doesn’t slam shut, though you would have let it were there not any partygoers below. You don’t have any more words to throw at Gamzee. He’s not acting like himself, that’s for sure, and he was miserable at controlling himself before. It would be cruel to expect him to now. Instead, you push him into the ablution trap and tell him to take a shower and to stay. In. Your. Respiteblock.

 

There's not much time for you to rid your hive of uninvited guests before Gamzee inevitably leaves the ablution trap, so you stomp downstairs and back to the party. Everyone is still scattered around the room, chatting about mundane topics and laughing too much. Kanaya sees you reenter and glides to your side.  

 

“Attention, assholes,” you command, holding your arms up so that you are sure you make a lovely looking “X” with your limbs. Fourteen pairs of eyes rise to meet yours. “This clusterfuck is officially over. See to it that your miserable grubshitting rumps are out that door in no less than thirty seconds.” The appropriate level of grumbling spreads from person to person. Kanaya elbows you in the side, and you add, “Also thank you for the presents goodbye.”

 

There is a thump from upstairs.

 

“The allotted time for exit is now reduced to 20 seconds. Don’t make me get to one,” you snarl and bare your teeth at them for effect. The humans sans Rose split immediately; Rose sidles up to Kanaya, who obviously will wait till the very last second to leave. The trolls move slower, almost like they _want_ to be culled. You stare them down until they finally trickle out in awkward groups. You’ll post a memo later to make up for it but you really do have to go. Kanaya paps your face, gives you a meaningful look, and leads Rose out your front door. You promptly shut it and lock it and haul ass to your respiteblock.

 

Gamzee must still be in the ablution trap because he sure as hell isn’t anywhere in your room. Growling can be heard from the bathroom. He hasn’t drained the trap yet; you hope he’s still bathing.

 

 

\-------------

 

 

Now that you’ve pailed with him, the sight of Gamzee naked shouldn’t be such a big deal to you, but seeing him naked and stroking his bulge is a bit fucking much.

                 

Oh, fuck.

 

Shit, you hadn’t thought this through.

 

“Ain’t gonna stand and stare all motherfucking day, are you, brother?” he snarls, smirking at you. “It’s not gonna up and soothe itself.” He accents this with a firm twist around his bulge and a grunt and dammit why won’t your eyes look somewhere else? His bulge writhes and curls around his hand. In the light you can see just how big it is and how purple. Finally you break your gaze and study a very fine toothbrush specimen, but he’s moaning and every single one goes straight to your genitals. You can hear his back slap against the bottom of the trap as he comes down from an arch into his hand. You hate that he insists on doing this to you.

 

Gamzee inhales sharply. It’s recognizably similar to earlier, when he was whining, and your brain whirs. “Do you even have a bucket in here?”

 

He chuckles breathily. “Naw, it isn’t fucking, ah, necessary,” and you know he means not to mix material. It’s fucking disgusting. It’s repulsive. It’s arousing. But Gamzee’s stuck in his ways for the moment and all you can do is watch. You kneel down by the ablution trap and wrap a hand around one of his horns, muttering, “You great big nookservicing doofus.” He leans into your touch, smiling sincerely for the first time since this morning, before his heat came on. And yep, there are the barkfiend eyes. You can’t stay angry with Gamzee, even when he does gross shit like this.

 

He works his bulge over a few more strokes before he groans, deep, head back, and spills purple across his stomach and chest. The water quickly mixes with genetic material. It’ll be a bitch to go down the drain, but at least you have a few minutes with your lucid matesprit. You pull the plug out, water spiraling down the chute, and turn your attention back to Gamzee. He turns his head your way and smiles like an adorable fucking idiot, saying, “That wasn’t motherfucking enough but it was something wicked.” His eyes slide shut as he regains control of his breathing.

 

“We can take care of that in a minute,” you say. The water is gone.

 

Your clothes are shed, tossed away in your closet; you are in the ablution trap in an awkward position between Gamzee and the tub while simultaneously on top of him. His body is still cooler, and his tempers still mild. You wait. Soon enough the heat seeps through his pores and he rolls over to achieve what is probably the most uncomfortable position possible to kiss you. He nips at your lips, pulls your tongue, drapes his leg over yours. This time you are on the same level; watching him manually manipulate himself definitely helped coax your bulge out, and Gamzee’s never really went back in. Your hand finds its way to the back of his neck. He rolls again so that you are on top of him, and when you bring your hips down to grind on his, he whines like a desperate fool. He can’t help it.

 

“Motherfucker,” Gamzee whimpers as your bulges wind around each other. His eyes are squeezed shut; his mouth, wide open. He needs this so bad. Your fingertips trail down his lean chest and it makes him squirm. His chest rumbles. You bet he’s ticklish. You’ll test your theory out later when Gamzee is less volatile. He notices your wandering mind and your not wandering hands and snarls at you, baring his whole set of teeth. You pick up where you left off – running your hands down to his nook. This time, however, he doesn’t stop growling. It fluxes, from loud and challenging to overcome with pleasure, and you return them when he gets too abrasive. His fangs are the biggest fucking fangs you’ve ever seen, and when they come down on your shoulder after a particularly fine slide of the bulges, you feel the longer ones breaking skin.

 

“Hey, asswipe, easy on the biting!” you yelp. A few drops of thick blood roll down your sides, down your grub scars, and drip onto the bottom of the trap. Sorry flickers across his face before he is snarling at you again. Claws are thrown into the mix when Gamzee spears your left shoulder blade and right butt slab. “Ahh, ouch – fuck!” He digs in deep.

 

You glare at him and his deranged grin is back. “More,” he grinds out between gritted teeth. He grips your ass and shoves it down, hard, and yeah you’re pretty sure he just cracked some of your vertebrae. Your lips find their way back under Gamzee’s jaw and suck. He laughs, jostling you. His hand dives down to your bulge; he squeezes it a little too tight, and the noise you make is the most undignified squeak you’ve made yet. He moves your whole body down and positions the tip of your bulge at his nook. You’re not used to being handled like this, so when he lets go and waits for you to plunge in, you freeze up a bit.

 

“Don’t motherfucking make me ask twice,” Gamzee warns, the yellows of his eyes turning a dark orange, and you thrust. His body moves up at least half a foot as you do, his head thrown back with a moan. He feels different this time, warmer and much more wet, like his heat wasn’t fully on when you pailed earlier. Purple is already trailing down both of your thighs. You nearly scream when you push in a second time, harder than the first, and Gamzee scrapes his claws up the entire length of your back. He licks your blood off his fingertips, making sure to suck all of it off while looking you straight in the eyes. You’re sure it’s just to tantalize you, but you’re too awesome to let it faze you. A rhythm is begun and kept. You catch his bulge, pump it a few times, and Gamzee comes without warning, wordless and rigid. Not enough slurry is spurted from his bulge. He isn’t done yet, and neither are you. After the initial spasms wear off, he opens his eyes. They are yellow again and wide and brimming with unshed, royal tears. You fluster.

 

“Oh, shit, Gamzee, don’t cry,” you babble, wiping at his eyes. He must have been holding these in for an eternity because these tears just won’t stop coming. He starts to hyperventilate sporadically, his body convulsing with each ragged breath. Your foreheads meet as you place both your hands around his face in a vain attempt to calm him down; luckily for you, it seems to work. Gamzee’s really on a ride today.

 

“I’m sorry, I’m so motherfucking sorry,” he sobs. You kiss him all over his beautiful ugly damn face. There is so much mating fondness radiating from you.

 

“It’s okay,” you say, “I know you’re sorry. I know.” The last calming kiss is placed on his mouth and his arms wrap around your neck. You nudge his horns with yours and start the pailing up again. Gamzee stops crying after a few moments, awash with pleasure once more, but doesn’t return to his anger. He is flushed all over his body, his skinny, long, gorgeous body. You are gentler this time. It doesn’t take much time for you both to come again, red and purple mixing down the drain and across your front. Screw the drones; you’ll find a bucket one of the next hundred times you pail. You whisper affections in his ear as both of you ride your orgasms out and he whines the way he’s been doing all night.

 

You collapse on top of Gamzee in a most ungraceful manner without crushing him completely. He ruffles your hair, breathes you in, as you try to stop panting so hard. He whispers, “Happy wriggling day, my best motherfucking Karkat.” You smile into his collarbone. After a few moments, his fingers stop grazing your scalp. You look up to see why and find your matesprit has fallen asleep, a small blessing on your celebratory day.

 

When you get up, your thoraxes come apart with a disgusting squelch. You grab a rag, wet it, and wash Gamzee’s stomach and thighs without waking him. He’s heavier than you would expect, which makes it hard to haul him all the way to his recuperacoon, but somehow you manage to get him there still sleeping. You carefully slip him into the sopor slime and hope he’ll get through the night with no interruptions. As for yourself, you hop in the shower before drifting to sleep in slime.


End file.
